Star Traks, Waystation, and my eternal thanks belong to Alan Decker.
The Explorer, her fated crew, and all the mistakes and uncomfortable
situations that come about because of her are gladly owned by Anthony
Butler, Copyright 1998. Paramount owns everything else, including my
eternal soul.
If you're offended by mildly disturbing language, situations, and the utter
disregard of some of Star Trek's greatest premises, better hit the "Back"
button on your browser right now. If not, welcome aboard!
STAR TRAKS: THE VEXED GENERATION
"Prior Engagements"
BY ANTHONY BUTLER
"Nervous, Chris?" Captain Baxter asked, watching with
amusement as Lt. Commander Richards squirmed under the
tender care of Yeoman Briggs, the USS Explorer's one and
only fashion designer, interior decorator, and rumored
homosexual.
"Me? Ha ha. That's a laugh," Richards said. "Mr.
Briggs, don't you think you can loosen that up a little?"
Briggs grinned, pulling back on the pants some more. "It's
supposed to be snug, Commander. Now, suck in that gut."
"I don't have a gut," Richards said flatly.
"That's what they all say. You can't lie to your tailor,"
Briggs returned. "Now, tell me, what do you think of the
cummerbund?"
"I think it looks ridiculous," Richards said. "Does it
really have to have diamond studs along the center?"
"Per Dr. Browning's orders," Briggs said, standing back and
looking Richards over with pride. "I think everything looks
marvelous. Your fiancee has a fantastic eye for design."
"You know, I'm the artist between us," Richards said,
looking to Baxter. "I should have been put in charge of colors
and designs."
"You were," Baxter said, shifting in his chair adjacent to the
the semi-circle of mirrors where Briggs worked on Richards.
"Don't you remember? You kept putting it off and procrastinating
until Janice had no choice but to charge ahead. And now Kelly's
got to wear itchy chiffon. I hope you're happy."
"I was not procrastinating! Ouch!" Richards looked down
at Briggs, who had accidentally pricked him with the phaser-
hemmer.
"Sorry, but you were squirming. You'll have to be still if
you expect me to get this hem right."
Richards rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just make all
the alterations in the replicator?"
"Because..." Briggs said, sighing heavily, "the replicator
never gets it quite right. There's just no substitute for the
human body when it comes to alterations."
"I suppose I'll just have to take your word for it,"
Richards groaned. "How much longer do I have to be here,
anyway? I'm supposed to be in a staff meeting in twenty
minutes."
"Keep your pants on," Briggs chuckled, slapping Richards's
behind as he went into the back room.
"Hey!" Richards called out, turning to Baxter. "Captain,
did you see what he just did?"
"Bear with him, Chris. You know artists. They're eccentric.
Mr. Briggs just happens to have a very...hands-on...philosophy
when it comes to fashion."
"My ass."
"Exactly."
Richards rolled his eyes again. "I can't wait untill you
have to go through this."
"I'm abstaining from the fitting, Captain's prerogative,"
Baxter said with a smile. "I'm going to be wearing my dress
uniform."
"Hey, just because you're performing the ceremony doesn't
mean you get to save your dignity. If the rest of the wedding
party has to wear these getups, you're going down with them."
"Hey, try and make me," Baxter laughed.
"Larkin to the Captain," the comm system suddenly chirped.
"Ah, thank goodness!" Richards said. "We're saved."
"Don't get excited yet," Baxter said. "Baxter here. What
is it, Larkin?"
"Sir, we just picked up an automated distress call from a
transport in the Sigma Tau system."
"It's always something," Baxter said, pushing out of his
chair. "No other ships in the area, Lieutenant?"
"No, sir. The Explorer is the only Starfleet vessel in this
sector, or in any of the surrounding sectors for that matter."
"All right then, put us on Yellow Alert and lay in a course
to intercept the transport."
"Aye, sir."
"Come on, Commander," Baxter said. "Your sentence has
been postponed."
"What about my pants?" Richards asked.
"I'd definitely suggest keeping them on."
Baxter and Richards quickly left Yeoman Briggs's Fashion
Shoppe and Interior Design Centre, stopping at the door to grab a
handful of chocolate mints.
Moments later, Briggs emerged from the back room, carrying a
selection of color swatches from which Richards was supposed to
select the color of his boutineer.
"Commander Richards? Captain Baxter?" Briggs threw down
the swatches in consternation and looked around the empty cabin.
"Oh, I just hate them sometimes. How am I supposed to come up
with innovative designs when everyone refuses to work with me?
Red Alert this and Red Alert that. I swear."
"Entering Sigma Tau system now," Lt. Ford announced from the
helm, as Baxter and Richards stepped out onto the bridge. Ford
looked back at Richards's outfit and frowned. "I'm not going to
have to wear that at the wedding, am I?"
"No, Ford, we have something much more appropriate for you.
A big, furry gorilla suit," Richards said, taking his station at the rear
of the bridge.
"Very funny."
Baxter loomed behind Lt. Aria Tilleran's chair at the L-shaped
science console. "What have we got?"
Tilleran brought up the longrange scan on the viewscreen.
"Class B high-warp transport, sir. It's listed as the Pavarotti."
"Pretentious name for a high speed courier," Baxter mused.
"What's wrong with it?"
Tilleran checked her panel. "The ship seems to be in
perfect condition, with the exception of its deuterium tanks.
They're completely drained."
"That's odd," Richards said. "You'd think a long-range
ship would carry enough fuel as a matter of policy."
"You'd think," Baxter said. "Are we in hailing range yet?"
"Shortly," J'hana said from tactical.
"Good," Baxter said. "Meanwhile, why don't we arrange to
send some deuterium over to our friend so he can get underway
again."
"On it, sir," Richards said, disappearing into the
aft turbolift.
Baxter made his way around to the front of the bridge and
sat down in his command chair. "Hey, Larkin, isn't Conway
supposed to be up here?"
"He called in sick, sir," Larkin replied.
"Hmm," Baxter said. "I wonder what's wrong with him."
Tilleran shrugged. "With the Commander, you just never
know."
"And Conway wins by a nose! This was truly the race of a
lifetime!" boomed the speakers around the NASCAR track.
Commander Conway slid out of the side window of his trusty
Chevy racer, just as Dr. Lana Shar ran up to congratulate him, along
with enough paparazzi to choke a politician.
"Thank you, thank you," Conway said, as someone handed him a
First Place trophy. "I owe a lot of this to my pit team and to
the good people at Chevrolet. Without them, I'd never have beaten
out Rusty Wallace."
Lana patted Conway on the back as he made his way across the
track to meet with his adoring fans. "Good work, Commander. I
have to give it to you. This...'NASCAR racing' is a very
interesting pasttime."
"It sure is," Conway said, shaking hands and signing
autographs. "Next time, you're racing."
"I don't think so," Lana said, as a perky seven-year-old
pushed past her to get a glimpse of Conway. "It seems a
bit...barbaric for me."
"Hmmm, and I always took you for the barbaric type."
Lana laughed. "Some of my previous hosts were what you
might consider...adventurous, but this one tends to be a bit
more reserved."
"That's a shame," Conway said. "I'd love to see the
adventurous side of you sometime."
"I doubt you could handle it, Commander."
"Lana, we've known each other for months. Call me Dave."
Conway wrapped a towel around his neck, tucked his trophy under
his arm, and took one last look at the stadium and his adoring
fans. "Computer, end program."
"How about we compromise and I call you David?" Lana asked,
as she and Conway exited the orange-on-black gridded holodeck.
"Good enough. Want to join me at Mirk's for some coffee?"
"I suppose. Shouldn't you be on duty about now, though?"
"Nah. Besides, you've been very busy lately and this was
your first day off." Conway smiled. "I'd rather spend my time
with you."
"Commander...David...I don't want to send you any mixed
signals. We are just friends, and there's no changing that."
"A guy can always hope, can't he?"
"He can, but he shouldn't," Lana said. "I enjoy spending
time with you, but at this point in time..."
"...you don't want a relationship. I've heard that recycled
bit before."
"Then you know how to deal with it?"
"I suppose. But I won't like it."
"We are now in communications range," Lt. J'hana reported,
as Captain Baxter blew on his cup of orange pekoe tea and carried
it gently back to his command chair.
"Good," Baxter said, sipping at the tea and setting it down in
the handy cupholder next to his chair. "Open frequencies."
"Open."
"Pavarotti, this is Captain Andy Baxter of the Federation
Starship Explorer. We picked up your distress call. What's your
status?"
A familiar face appeared on the viewscreen. "Ah, Captain
Baxter. Nice to see you again," Bradley Dillon said, grinning
widely. "I suspect you're suprised to see me way out here?"
"You could say that," Baxter mumbled. "What are you
doing out here?"
Bradley laughed. "It's a funny story, actually."
"I'm sure," Baxter said, running a hand over his face.
"How about giving me the short version?"
"Hmmm. Well, then, I guess it all started when a deep
space-faring race known as the Bast visited Waystation. They told
me that they had access to a new form of circuit that would
transfer energy thousands of times faster than what the Federation
has. Of course, I realized that such a circuit offered unlimited
opportunities for technological advancement..."
"And might help Dillon Enterprises at the same time," Baxter
interrupted.
"Well, sir, that would only be a pleasant byproduct of my
arrangement with the Bast, but that thought did cross my mind.
Anyway, it seemed like a perfect time to test out my new ship. Do
you like it? I thought the racing stripes might be a bit much."
"Hmm, very stylish," Baxter mused.
"I used to sell starships for a living. I know what NOT to
buy," Bradley said. "Anyway, I successfuly negotiated a deal with
the Bast that would give me exclusive rights to distribute this
new circuit throughout the Federation."
"In return for what?"
"In return for a percentage of the profits and a substantial
discount at all Dillon's Pioneer Depot outlets across the
quadrant."
"Cut to the chase, Mr. Dillon."
"Well, after finishing business with the Bast, I headed back
for Waystation. When I crossed into this sector, I was attacked
by some kind of space pirates. They took the circuits and all my
fuel, leaving me stranded. I survived on backup power for several
days, but soon that gave out and I had to start breaking into the
rations, which I've had to get by on for the last three days."
"Poor guy."
"Luckily, I am in the pioneering business, which means that
I am prepared for contingincies like this one."
"In other words, you activated the distress call and hid in
your bunk."
"How did you know?"
"Lucky guess," Baxter muttered. "Listen, do you have sensor
images of the group that attacked you?"
"Yes, sir. Shall I upload them to your computer?"
"Please. Meanwhile, why don't you beam over and grab
something to eat while our engineering people refuel your ship.
I'm sure three days of eating rations has been quite an ordeal."
"It certainly has. Thank you, Captain."
"Don't mention it. Explorer out."
"Well, what's your diagnosis, doc?" Bradley asked, leaning
forward on the biobed as Dr. Browning examined him with her
medical tricorder.
"You're fit as a fiddle, Mr. Dillon," Browning said, closing
the tricorder. "Did you have some reason to believe otherwise?"
"Not really. I mean, the people that broke into my ship
didn't rough me up or anything. Actually, they were all pretty
nice, for pirates."
Browning put away the tricorder and looked at Bradley
quizzically. "Then why did you come here?"
Bradley rocked back and forth on the biobed nervously. "Just
a precaution. You know how tricky space pirates can be. They
could have poisoned the atmosphere on my ship or bathed it in
radiation. You can never be too careful these days."
"I suppose," Browning replied.
"And, it was also a good excuse to drop in and say hi," Bradley
said, sliding off the biobed and following Browning into her office.
"I mean, we did suffer through a pretty crazy ordeal a few months
ago."
"Oh, you mean that bit with the alternate universe with all
the happy people?" Browning asked, picking a padd up off her desk
and scrolling through it. "Mmm hmm. That was pretty crazy."
"There were a few times back then when I thought we were
going to die," Bradley said, inching closer to Browning as she read
over her padd.
"Yep, it certainly was touch and go for a while there."
Browning moved out of the office, prompting Bradley to scuttle after
her.
"So, what are you up to?"
Browning removed her lab coat and headed out of Sickbay. "I'm
getting ready for my wedding."
Bradley's expression darkened as he shuffled after her into the
corridor. "You're getting married?"
"Uh...yeah. My fiancee was one of the people trapped with
us on the alternate Enterprise-D. Don't you remember?"
"Nope. I guess I was busy trying to swindle that stupid
Engineering Chief out of his credits."
"Ha ha. I'm marrying that stupid Engineering Chief."
"Oh." Bradley fumbled with the sleeves on his suitcoat
as he walked. "Really?"
Browning nodded. "Uh-huh. In two little days, I'll be
Mrs. Dr. Janice Marie Browning Richards."
"Wow. That's pretty long."
"That's the shortened version. For the long version, I add
Lieutenant Commander."
"I see. So...where are you going now?"
"To check on the buffet selections for the wedding. Mirk's
helping me put together some of my own recipes. They'll be
made of all natural food...nothing replicated."
"Wow. I'd really like to see that," Bradley mused.
Browning indicated the wooden double doors in front of her.
Above them, a huge banner reading "Mirk's Constellation Cafe" hung
from the ceiling. "Then come on in. You've got a few minutes
before your ship is ready to leave, don't you?"
"I suppose I do," Bradley said, following Browning into the
lounge, rubbing his hands together excitedly. Free food and
female companionship...what could be better?
So what if she was engaged? That was only a tiny
complication.
Commander Conway walked out onto the bridge later that
afternoon, feeling on top of the universe after lunch with Lana
and a shower...that of course was without Lana but still very
nice. "Afternoon, Captain. What's the good word today?"
Baxter grimaced as Conway sat down next to him. "The good
word is 'late,' Mr. Conway. You were supposed to be on duty at
0800 hours this morning. Did that slip your mind?"
"I was sick, Captain."
"You seem to have made a full recovery," Baxter said,
looking Conway over with skepticism.
"Yes, sir, it's a miracle."
"I'm sure. Well, in your absence, we've rescued a transport
carrying one of Waystation's crew, and found out some very
interesting stuff."
"Such as?" Conway asked with interest.
"Come with me," Baxter said, rising and heading for his
readyroom. "Lieutenant J'hana...you too. Larkin, you have the
bridge."
"What's this all about?" Conway asked, following Baxter into
his readyroom.
Baxter took a seat at his desk, motioning for Conway to sit
down across from him. "It's about our bald friend out there."
"You mean Lt. Ford?" Conway asked. "What about him?"
"J'hana..." Baxter said, hitting a control on his desk which
caused the lights to dim.
J'hana activated a control next to the viewscreen adjacent
to Baxter's desk. "This image was taken from the runabout
Raritan's onboard computer."
Conway watched with growing curiousity as a lean, birdlike
red starship glided into view on the screen and launched a
blue beam, which immediately pulverized the Klingon Bird of Prey
on the opposite side of the screen.
"Impressive," Conway said. "What is it?"
"That vessel saved me, Counselor Peterman, Lt. Commander
Richards, Dr. Browning, and Mr. Ford from a Klingon comedian
several months ago by hitting it with just one shot from--well,
whatever that weapon was. It was manned by the very group that
recruited Mr. Ford the day before."
"Yeah, the Starshine Kids. Ford told me about them. What
does that have to do with the transport we rescued?"
J'hana hit another control. "This sensor image was recorded
by that transport."
An identical bird-like red ship appeared on the screen, growing
closer and emitting a different looking beam.
"We think that was some kind of tractor beam, but
Richards is still analyzing the sensor data," Baxter explained.
"Evidently this group very politely stole the Pavarotti's
cargo and all its dilithium, quite congenially leaving Mr. Dillon
stranded," J'hana explained.
"That's not very nice," Conway said.
"No kidding," Baxter replied.
"The question is, what do we do about it?" J'hana said
gruffly, deactivating the viewer and leaning against Baxter's
desk.
"What does Ford have to say about it?" Conway asked.
Baxter looked to J'hana, then they both looked at Conway.
"We haven't talked to him yet."
"Don't you think you should?"
J'hana shook her head. "Frankly, we don't know if we can
trust him anymore. This could be a case of brainwashing. It is
possible that this cult is trying to slowly subvert Federation
interests. That would explain them targetting a Starfleet officer
for recruitment."
"Or they could just be kleptomaniacal Jehovah's witnesses,"
Conway offered.
"With a starship that's powerful enough to destroy a Klingon
Bird of Prey in one shot?" Baxter asked. "Any fringe group with
that kind of weaponry scares me."
"Well," Conway said, rising. "I'm going to talk this over
with Ford man to man. I'm sure he can shed some light on this."
Commander Conway jogged to catch up with Lt. Ford as he
headed for the turbolift at the rear of the bridge. "Hold the
lift for me, Mr. Ford."
"Aye, sir," Ford said, sticking his foot in front of the
doorway until Conway was inside. "Going off-duty so soon?"
"Not exactly." After the lift began its decent, Conway
looked over at Ford. "So, Mr. Ford, how have you been the last
several months?"
Ford shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Why do you ask?"
"Well, as your commanding officer, I want you to know that I
care."
"Ha ha. That's funny, Commander. Is it April Fools day
again already?"
"No, no," Conway said. "That's only in April."
"Oh, yeah."
"Listen, Ford, all joking aside, I really...well, want to know...
um..."
"Sir, with all due respect, spit it out!"
Conway sighed. "Computer, all stop." When the lift came to
a stop Conway leaned back against the railing that circled the
small turbolift. "Mr. Ford, are you aware that your friends the
Starshine Kids were responsible for hijacking that transport out
there?"
"Really?" Ford said, raising his eyebrows. "That's odd."
"It certainly is. Do you know why they'd do something like
that?"
"Can't say that I do. Then again, I haven't talked to them
in months. I left the Kids about two months ago."
"You did?" Conway asked.
"Yep. They were starting to freak me out. All their talk
about seceding from the Federation and bringing down the
government was bothering me, so I told them to cash me out."
Conway seemed visibly relieved. "That's good to hear,
Lieutenant. Computer, resume."
"You didn't think I had something to do with that, did you,
sir?"
"No, of course not. Well, the Captain did have doubts, I
have to admit."
"I'd never do anything to harm this ship, sir," Ford said
earnestly. "And I'll do all I can to help the Captain track down
those cult members."
"Good," Conway replied, as he followed Ford out of the
turbolift. "Then I want you to turn all of your informational
materials on the Starshine Kids over to Lt. J'hana immediately."
"Consider it done, sir," Ford said, ducking into his
quarters.
Conway let out a sigh of relief as the doors to Ford's
quarters slid shut. That was one less thing to worry about.
Lt. Ford removed the outer jacket of his uniform and
shrugged on a white robe, kneeling before his closet and sliding
it open. "Good afternoon, Mr. Orb."
A soft red glow fell upon Ford's face as the orb emerged
from underneath Ford's deflated "wet bannana" slide.
The orb replied.
"I was questioned by Commander Conway in regards to the
Kids."
"I did just like you told me to do. I told him I was
finished with them."
"Hurry up, Kelly, or I'm going to start it without you!"
Baxter said eagerly, calling into the bathroom as he, Browning, and
Richards prepared to settle down for an exciting viewing of the
latest video chip of the popular Klingon soap opera "Days of
Honor."
"I'm coming." Peterman emerged from the bathroom looking
wet and exausted. "I was giving Charlie and Pandora their baths."
Suddenly the massive golden retriever and the not-so-massive
Jack Russel terrier loped out of the bathroom, dripping wet,
finding their target on Baxter's couch.
"No!" Baxter cried, shoving the dogs off with Richards's and
Browning's help. "Kelly, I just got this couch last
week. Do you know how hard it is to get water stains out of
Tellarite suede? Almost impossible."
"I'm sorry," Peterman said. "But I have to bathe them
sometime."
Richards held the struggling Pandora away from his face.
"Did you ever hear of sonic showers?"
"Charlie hates the sonic shower," Peterman said, leading
Pandora and Charlie to sit down on the plastic pad near
Baxter's desk where their food dishes were kept. "Come on,
babies, over here...come on, come on!"
"I'm going to give them a sedative in a minute!" Browning
said impatiently.
Peterman patted Charlie lovingly as he nibbled at his dinner
and settled peacefully onto the plastic pad. "There, boy, that's
it."
Pandora attempted to get to her dish, but Charlie growled
in her face, causing her to run, yipping, for the bedroom.
"Bully!" Baxter said angrily at Charlie as he ate. "Look at
him, acting like he's the king of the roost."
Peterman grinned as she walked over to the couch. "Do you
feel like your place is threatened?"
"Not at all," Baxter said, pulling Peterman onto the couch
with him. "Listen, can we just watch the chip or what?"
"I'm ready," Peterman said. "I've looked forward to this
all day."
Baxter leaned over and stabbed the control on his endtable.
"I can't wait to see what happened to Bulok."
"I think Krig killed him," Browning said.
"We'll see," Richards said, folding his arms.
The scene opened on the cramped bridge of a Klingon Bird of
Prey. The hefty Captain Krig sat in the center seat, watching the
viewscreen angrily. "Where is that patak Bulok, damn him? I'll
get that money he owes me if it's the last thing I do."
"What if you don't find him, Captain Krig?" the navigator
asked sheepishly.
"Then I will kill each and every one of you for failing me."
"I suppose that is fair."
Suddenly the scene changed to the interior of an office.
"Today the role of Minister Vag will be played by Rorbak," a
soothing voiceover said.
Minister Vag looked up from his desk angrily. "I know it's
been difficult to serve under me ever since you killed your wife
and married me, Sovok, but you have done well."
Sovok grinned. "Thank you, Minister. I'd like to think
that I have impressed you both in the bedroom and outisde
as well."
"Indeed, your manliness overwhelms me sometimes."
"I can't believe it," Richards said, covering his face.
"Who writes this stuff? Klingons don't talk like that!"
"Hey, it takes all kinds," Baxter said, gesturing at the
exchange on the screen. "The episode of 'Days of Honor'
where Sovok proclaimed his sexuality was the highest rated
of the year."
"I'm not talking about that," Richards said. "I'm talking
about the dialogue. It's stilted. And the plots are so...contrived."
"Since when have you cared about plots and dialogue?"
Browning asked, raising an eyebrow.
"For a while now," Richards said. "It's just something
that interests me. Ever since I started watching this show, I've
seen its potiential. It has some excellent actors, but the
writing stinks."
"So you think you could do better?" Baxter asked with a
laugh.
"Actually, yes I could."
Before Baxter could offer a retort, Browning's comm badge
bleeped. "Bradley Dillon to Dr. Browning. Do you have a minute?"
"I'm in the middle of something right now, actually," Browning
said.
"Well, I've got a really great idea to share with you. I
think you should come down to Holodeck Four immediately. I
promise it won't take long."
Browning looked around at Peterman, Baxter, and Richards.
"I suppose it couldn't hurt. I'll be right there."
"Honey?" Richards asked, as Browning pushed off of the couch.
"I'll only be gone a few minutes," Browning said, kissing
Richards on the forehead. "Besides, why would I want to watch
this if the writing stinks?"
"I happen to like the writing," Peterman said defensively as
Browning left his cabin.
Richards watched Browning as leave in disbelief. "I
wonder what that was all about."
Baxter shrugged. "Don't look at me."
Dr. Browning stepped through the holodeck doors and into an
ornate hotel lobby.
"Doctor!" Bradley called out, in front of a large pair of double
doors. "Over here!"
Browning walked over. "Impressive, Mr. Dillon. But why are
you showing me this?"
"You haven't seen what I really wanted to show you yet,"
Bradley said, swinging the doors open.
Browning watched curiously as lights flickered on throughout
the darkened room beyond the doors. She saw several booths and
tables, all beautifully decorated and intimately lit. "A restaurant?"
"Just wait..." Bradley said, handing Browning a menu.
Browning looked at the menu and raised an eyebrow.
"Browning's on the Rim?"
Bradley laughed. "Yep. It's all for you!"
"I don't understand."
"I own a Hotel on Waystation called Starfleet Suites, and I've
been trying to stir up a restaurant business for that clientele and
other visitors to Waystation. My preivous chef...had to leave,
to make a long story short, and I think you'd be perfect for the job."
"Why me?" Browning asked incredulously, inspecting the flower
arrangements and silverware on the white-clothed tables.
"Because I know a winner when I see one," Bradley said. "That
real food you made this afternoon was delicious. I'm giving you
the opportunity you always wished for..."
"Spending days on end surrounded by food?"
"Whatever you want," Bradley said. "The point is, there are no
really nice restaurants on Waystation except for the Andorian one.
They could always use a little competition. I tried with the last
chef but...well, he felt compelled to leave."
"And what do you get out of this?" Browning asked, peering
over the counter.
"A fantastic chef and the knowledge that I have brought a
bit of class to my corner of the galaxy. So, do we have a
deal?"
Browning was so caught up in the idea she had completely forgot
about all the wedding plans. "No...no, we don't have a deal.
We can't have a deal. I'm getting married in two days. I'm
staying on the Explorer with Christopher."
"So you don't want to run a restaurant, then?" Bradley asked.
"Well...if the circumstances were different I'd love to. But
it's just not going to happen. Christopher and I are happy here on
the Explorer. We have no complaints."
"You may not have any complaints, Doctor, but are you truly
happy?"
"Sure. I'm in a position of reponsibility. I help people.
I'm doing what I've always wanted to do."
"I can make it worth your while, you know." Bradley pulled
two bars of gold pressed latinum out of his pocket and waved them
in front of Browning. "This is just your signing bonus, Doctor."
For a moment, her eyes went wide, then she quickly covered
her reaction. "Starfleet officers have no use for money, Mr.
Dillon. We strive to better ourselves, that is our reward."
"So you really think you're bettering yourself here?"
Browning was quiet a moment, then said, "Sure."
"Well, then, I won't push the issue," Bradley said, sighing.
"I suppose I'll have to find someone else to run my restaurant
now. Computer, end program."
Browning watched woefully as the restaurant disappeared
around her. Running a restaurant had always been her secret
dream, and it was staring her right in the face. But she had
responsibilities...she had Christopher. And that was more
important.
Wasn't it?
The next morning, Dr. Browning awoke to the sound of a
thunderous Klingon belly-laugh coming from the other room.
Noting that Richards wasn't with her in bed, Browning slid
out from under the covers and padded into the other room to
investigate.
"I must say, your script looks interesting, and your
proposal interests me, Mr. Richards." The voice seemed to be
coming from Richards's communication terminal, but Browning
couldn't see who was on the screen, since Richards was blocking
her view. "We will be in touch."
"Thanks a lot," Richards said, switching off the viewer.
"Christopher...what are you doing out here?" Browning asked,
once she was directly behind the Chief Engineer.
Richards jumped, almost knocking over his cup of raktajeeno.
"Good Lord, honey, don't sneak up on me like that!"
"Sorry," Browning said. "Who were you talking to just now?"
"It was nobody. Just someone that's looking at a script of
mine," Richards explained.
"Script?"
"Yeah. For an episode of Days of Honor. I got an idea for
an episode last night and I had to get it down before I forgot it.
By the time I was finished I had a whole script, so I submitted it
to the Days of Honor people."
Browning looked around the room. Padds were spread
everywhere, and a half-empty pot of raktageeno cooled next to
the terminal on Richards's desk. "Were you up all night,
Christopher?"
"Kind of."
Collapsing on their couch, Browning started rubbing the
sleep out of her eyes. She'd tossed and turned all the previous
night considering Bradley's proposal, and she hadn't even noticed
that Richards had never come to bed.
"What's wrong?" Richards asked, getting up from his desk
and stretching, wincing as several cracks rippled through his
back.
"Oh, nothing," Browning distantly.
"What did Bradley have to show you last night?"
"It wasn't anything important." Browning returned to the
bedroom to get ready for her shift in Sickbay. She decided to
keep Bradley's offer to herself. No reason to force Christopher
to choose between marrying her and letting her go off to run
some restaurant on Waystation. It was a silly idea, anyway.
Wasn't it?
Captain's Log,
Stardate 52994.5. Although Engineering has finished
refueling Mr. Dillon's ship, he insists on having us escort him
back to Federation space, should any "space pirates" attempt to
rob him again. After much posturing and regulation-citing on the
part of Mr. Dillon, I agreed to his demands. I think I'm starting
to dislike him even more than I do his brother.
"So, from what I hear, we're going to begin a patrol of the
Galactic edge as soon as we drop off Bradley Dillon's ship," Dr.
Browning said, as she devoured her lunch--a peculiar-looking
caserole which Mirk had cooked up that combined Breen meat
and Romulan cheese. "Starfleet's afraid that this cult thing might
be catching on."
Richards poked at his own casserole, nodding. "Mmm hmm."
"But I think they're blowing the whole thing out of
proportion. I mean, Mr. Ford joined the cult and I hear he's not
in it anymore. You know how it is. Just a passing trend."
"Mmm hmm."
Browning glared at Richards. She was slowly becoming aware
that he wasn't listening. "So I'm going to paint myself blue and
live in a colony of gigantic ants on Sigor Seven, if that's all
right with you."
"That's great, hon."
"Christopher, is something bothering you?" Browning asked.
Richards looked up. "Nah. It's nothing."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, I heard back from my contact on the Days of Honor
staff today."
Browning had a feeling she knew where this was going.
"And what did he say?"
"He said he submitted my script to the producers."
"And?"
"And they really liked it. They even offered me a position
on the writing staff."
"I see," Browning said. "And what did you tell them?"
Richards laughed nervously. "Ha ha. What do you think I
told them?"
"I don't know. That's why I asked."
"Oh. Well, I haven't really told them anything yet. But
I'm going to tell them no. I mean, we'd never be happy leaving
the Explorer. And what would you do on Kronos while I worked
on the show? Klingons don't have a use for doctors. It's a stupid
idea."
"Yeah. Ha ha. Us leaving the Explorer. That is a laugh."
Suddenly Browning was acutely aware of why Richards had lost his
appetite.
"Status, Larkin," Baxter said, stepping out onto the
bridge.
"We are still on course for Federation space at a speed of
Warp Eight, in close formation with Mr. Dillon's vessel,"
Larkin reported, yielding the command chair to Baxter.
"Any sign of those 'space pirates?'" Baxter asked, with a
hint of amusement on his face.
"If you are referring to the red ship that attacked Mr.
Dillon, then no, there have been no further reports of contact
with them."
"Good. Maybe it was all just a false alarm."
"A distinct possibility, sir. On the other hand, they could
be massing fleets of those red ships for an invasion of our
space."
Baxter shook his head. "I seriously doubt it. Where on
Earth would they get enough people for that kind of assault?"
"They are a cult, sir. Their purpose is to recruit."
"They'd have to recruit a lot of people to pose a threat to
the Federation, Lieutenant."
Larkin turned in her chair. "Stranger things have
happened, Captain."
"Turn back around and man your post, Lieutenant. You're
starting to scare me."
"Check it out, Andy!" Peterman suddenly said, twirling
out of the turbolift, decked out in a beautiful, flowing, blue and
white chiffon dress.
"Outstanding!" Baxter said, clapping his hands as Peterman
circled the bridge. Baxter stood up, clearing his throat. "Miss
Peterman is a twenty-seven year old, originally from Redondo
Beach, California. She enjoys counseling, horseback riding, pets,
and driving her boyfriend crazy with desire. Her pet peeves are
people who don't like pets and angry Klingons. She's wearing an
original Briggs in blue and white chiffon, complete with spaghetti
straps across the back, ruffles at the bottom, and a full
complement of quantum torpedoes. Everyone give her a big hand."
"What is this mockery of Starfleet protocol?" J'hana asked
angrily as Peterman pranced in front of her.
"Oh lighten up, J'hana," Baxter said, turning to Peterman.
"Give Yeoman Briggs my thumbs up and have him replicate one for
Tilleran, J'hana, and Larkin."
"Aye, sir," Peterman said, saluting and returning into the
turbolift. "I just love weddings, don't you?"
"Yep," Baxter said, returning to his command chair.
"Makes you think about us, doesn't it?" Peterman added as
the doors to the lift slid shut.
"What's that?" Baxter twisted around in his chair, but it
was too late; Peterman was already gone.
"Don't you love how she just slips it in there when you
least expect it?" Tilleran asked with a grin.
"Well, it's certainly pretty, Mr. Briggs," Dr. Browning said,
turning around as she examined herself in the mirror. "I don't
know about all this lace though. It keeps flying up in my face."
"Don't worry about it, honey," Briggs said, placing a
comforting hand on Browning's shoulder. "I'll adjust it so it stays
out of your face. We don't want anything messing up that perfect
moment as you stroll down the aisle!"
"Yes, well. That will be nice. Can I take this off now?"
Briggs crossed his arms, looking up and down at the dress
with approval. "I suppose so. I have a few more alterations to
make on it anyway. Remember, we're supposed to meet Mr.
Richards in the wedding chapel in fifteen minutes!"
Browning scuttled into the changing room. "I know, I know.
Just give me a second."
Counselor Peterman strolled into the Fashion Shoppe, looking
extremely pensive. "Hello, Jeffery."
"Back from the bridge, Kelly?"
"Yes, yes, yes. Everyone loved the dress. Except Lt.
J'hana, of course."
Briggs shook his head. "Oh, she's such a tight-ass
sometimes. What did the Captain think?"
Peterman slumped into a chair, sighing heavily. "He liked
it. But I saw the look on his face when I brought up the subject
of us getting married. It was one of pure terror."
"Give Uncle Jeffery a hug now. That's it," Briggs said,
sitting down on the arm of Peterman's chair and wrapping an
arm around her. "It takes a long time to train them, dear."
"I wish I could believe you, I really do," Peterman said.
"But what if he never wants to get married. What then?"
"Then you hike up your dress, catch that bouquet, and find
someone else!"
"Someone else? I couldn't imagine being with anyone else."
At that moment, Dr. Browning walked out of the dressing room,
gently handing the wedding dress to Yeoman Briggs. She sighed.
"All right, let's check out that chapel."
Peterman blinked as Browning crossed the room. "Well, you
certainly seem excited about the whole thing, Janice."
"Yeah, yeah. Come on, Yeoman Briggs."
Briggs hung up the wedding dress and grabbed his book of
color swatches and a padd as he followed Browning out the door.
"Kelly, take off that dress before it gets wrinkled!"
"Yes, sir," Peterman said, jumping to her feet and heading
for the dressing room.
Lt. Commander Richards looked up from his tricorder.
"This support beam will have to be replaced. It's weakened in
several places."
Yeoman Briggs shook his head. "Oh, it's probably from one
of the umpteen firefights you all get into. Really, it's
difficult to hem a dress when the ship is rocking like an Ensign's
bed on Saturday night."
"Let's spare the similies and get on with this," Browning said.
"I want the bouquets here and here, on either side of the altar.
And I want candles lining each row of pews. Can we do that?"
"My, we're snippy all of a sudden," Yeoman Briggs said. "I
think we can do that. Let me check the replicator files and see
if I can find something appropriate to our color scheme."
As Yeoman Briggs headed for the back of the chapel, Browning
collapsed on the front pew.
Richards sat down next to her, leaning back and taking in
the view of the huge marble altar before them. "We'll be up there
tomorrow afternoon taking our vows, you know."
"Sure will."
"Marraige. Wow. It's hard to believe we're doing this."
"Sure is."
"Both of us. Together. Forever. Wow."
Several long moments of silence followed, as Browning and
Richards sat there staring at the altar.
Finally, they turned to each other.
"Janice...I..."
"Chris...I..."
They both took in a deep breath, and at the same time,
blurted out:
"I don't want to get married!"
At that moment, Yeoman Briggs stepped out of the back room.
"Good news! I found just the right candles to put up next to the
pews!"
Browning and Richards got to their feet, hugged, and skipped
like children down the aisle towards the back of the chapel,
waving their hands in the air, chanting, "We're not getting
married! We're not getting married! We're not getting married!"
Briggs turned around and stared at the couple in disbelief
as they skipped right out into the corridor outside. "Well, how
do you like that. And what am I supposed to do with fourteen
pounds of lobster pate, huh?"
"I don't get it," Commander Conway said, stepping out of the
holodeck. "You were almost at the finish line."
Lana followed, pulling off her helmet and letting her hair
fall around her shoulders. "Well, Dick Trickle's car flipped
over. I had to pull over and help him."
"But you were about to win!"
"He could have been hurt!"
"It was a freaking holodeck simulation."
"Still...I don't see how they could just all drive by
without stopping to help him."
"Because they have medics for stuff like that. The race
must go on!"
"And it did. And someone else won, so what's the point?"
Lana said defiantly.
"I'll never understand you, Lana."
"Maybe that's why you like spending time with me so much."
Before Conway could reply, Lt. Commander Richards and Dr.
Browning danced by, laughing like children. "We're not getting
married, we're not getting married, we're not getting married!"
Conway and Lana turned to watch Browning and Richards swing
around the corner, bumping into a pair of surprised ensigns along
the way.
"What the hell was that all about?" Conway asked.
"Apparently they aren't getting married," replied Lana.
Captain Baxter leaned forward, staring at Bradley Dillon as he
smiled on the terminal screen that was on his desk. "Listen, Mr.
Dillon, I don't know where you got your information, but I think
you're mistaken."
"She's coming with me, Captain Baxter. You can ask her
yourself," Bradley smiled on the terminal.
"I intend to. Why don't you wait one..."
Suddenly Baxter's door swished open and Dr. Browning poked
her head in. "Busy, Captain?"
"Actually, I was about to call you," Baxter said. "Come in
here for a minute."
Browning stepped in, holding something behind her back. "I
have to to tell you something, sir, and I don't know how you'll
react."
"Well, first tell Mr. Dillon here that you are not quitting
Starfleet and going to Waystation with him to run his restaurant."
Browning smiled, delicately placing the padd she had behind her
back on Baxter's desk. "Sir, I'm quitting Starfleet and going to
Waystation to run Mr. Dillon's restaurant."
"Exactly," Baxter said, folding his arms and turning to
Bradley's image. "See, Mr. Dillon. She's..." he turned to Browning,
his eyes going wide. "WHAT?"
Browning pointed at the padd that was on Baxter's desk.
"That's my resignation, sir."
Bradley smiled broadly. "You see, Captain? I told you s--"
Baxter slammed his hand down on the terminal's control
panel, causing Bradley's image to disappear. He looked up at
Browning. "This is a joke, right?"
"Nope," Browning said, shaking her head. "I'm outta here,
Andy."
"But, the wedding..."
"Is off."
"But, Chris..."
"Has some news for you, too."
Richards poked his head into the readyroom. "Are you
almost done, Janice?"
"Almost," Browning called back. "Give us another minute."
"Okay," Richards said, disappearing behind the door again.
"I...I don't know what to say," Baxter said, scratching his
head and pushing off his chair. He maneuvered around his desk
to stare down at his model of the Secondprize. "Weren't you guys
happy here?"
"We were content, Andy. But we weren't happy. Let's
face it--I may be an okay doctor, and Christopher might be an
okay engineer, but neither of us ever planned on doing this the
rest of our lives."
"You didn't?"
"Uh-uh," Browning said. "And now we have opportunities
to do something dramatically different with our lives. It's just
too great a chance to ignore. And you know what they say,
opportunity only knocks once."
"Well," Baxter said, moving to hug Browning and taking a
deep breath. "Far be it from me to keep you guys from your
destinies. I wish you both the best of luck."
"Thanks, Andy," Browning said, heading for the door to the
readyroom. "Now I think Chris has a few things to tell you."
"Boy, when it rains it pours," Baxter said, collapsing onto his
couch as Richards strolled into his office and slapped a padd of
his own into Baxter's hands.
"Hey, buddy," Richards said. "I came in here to tell you
to take this job and shut it."
"I think that's 'shove it,'" Baxter said, scrolling through the
padd.
"So what do you think?"
Baxter couldn't believe his eyes as he read. "You're
leaving to become part of the writing staff for the Klingon soap
opera?" He leaned back against the couch and rubbed his
face.
"Hey, their writing stinks. Someone should do something
about it."
Baxter glanced up at Richards. "But...why you?"
"With all due respect, sir, aligning the warp core isn't
exactly the best outlet for my creative juices. I need something
more...adventurous."
"And you and Janice are okay with all of this?" Baxter said,
tossing Richards's padd up onto his desk with Browning's.
"We're happier than ever," Richards said. "It turns out we've
both been having our doubts for a while now. Don't tell me you
haven't noticed."
Baxter shook his head. "No, not really."
"Well, nothing stays the same Andy. It's time that Janice
and I moved on."
"You know, I kind of thought you two and me and Kelly
would be together forever."
"Don't get sappy on me, Andy. This is all for the best."
Baxter frowned as he stared at the padds. "I guess."
Richards pulled Baxter up to shake hands with him, then,
finally, hug. "Janice and I leave in two days. In the meantime,
we'll make sure our departments are in order."
"Fine, fine," Baxter said, stepping back behind his desk. "I
guess there's no stopping you guys."
"Oh, and there's one more thing." The engineer reached into
his uniform and pulled out a pair of gold-latinum rings and dropped
them on Baxter's desk. "You can have these. I sure as heck won't
be needing them anymore."
"What am I supposed to do with them?" Baxter asked,
examining one of the rings with an arched eyebrow.
Richards smiled as he left the readyroom. "Think about it,
Andy."
"Kasatria?" Sovok asked, looking at his mate as he stepped
out of the shower. "I thought I killed you."
"You did not. That was all just a dream, Sovok. Come and
have some breakfast and you can tell me all about it."
Counselor Peterman pulled the blue and white Federation-
emblem afghan around her toes and sniffed quietly as she watched
the action on the viewscreen. "That's absolutely wonderful. No
more mean old Minister Vag." The people at Days of Honor were
already using Richards's ideas, and she had to hand it to him--he
seemed to be a much better writer than engineer.
"It's actually very funny, Kasatria. I dreamt that I
married Minister Vag and proclaimed my same-sex desires to the
world."
"That is funny. Almost funny enough for me to gut you with
your cereal spoon, fool! Now eat your breakfast! We'll see about
Minister Vag this afternoon. But for now, eat!"
Peterman sniffed quietly as she watched Sovok and Kasatria
quarrel. They were such a cute couple. In their own Klingon way,
they reminded her of she and Baxter. But of course, they were
married. And Klingon.
Kasatria shoved Sovok's cereal bowl aside and leaned
forward. "Now, listen. We've been plotting against that old
patak Vag for months. This is what we're going to do to him..."
Peterman leaned forward eagerly to hear what Kasatria was
planning, just as Captain Baxter stepped into the room and
switched the viewer off.
"Hey," Peterman said. "What did you do that for?"
"I have something to tell you. Well, actually, I guess it's
something to ask you."
"What is it?"
Baxter pushed his coffee table aside and knealt down in
front of Peterman. "Kelly, I've given this a lot of thought,
and--"
Suddenly Charlie ran into the room and knocked Baxter
over, licking his face.
"Aww," Peterman said. "Charwie's happy to see Daddie!"
"Yes, well," Baxter said, pushing Charlie off. "Anyway, I
wanted to ask you..."
"Bridge to Baxter," chimed Conway's voice over the
intercom. "A temporal anomaly just appeared right in our path.
What should we do?"
Outside Peterman's windows, the usually dark space lit up
bright purple.
"Deal with it, Conway," Baxter said, turning back to
Peterman. "Listen, Kelly..."
Peterman looked out the viewport in awe. "That's really
gorgeous."
"Richards to Baxter," Richards called over the comm. "That
anomaly is draining our shields. We have to find a way out of it."
"Talk to Commander Conway, Chris. I'm busy right now.
Kelly, what I really wanted to--"
"Conway to Baxter. Sir, I really think you should come see
this. I think we're entering a rift in the space-time continuum!"
"That's all well and good, but I'm trying to have a
conversation with my girlfriend here!" Baxter barked. "Take
care of it!"
"Aye, sir," Conway said dejectedly. In the background,
Baxter could hear J'hana and Tilleran shouting out information
about the new anomaly. It was always something around the
Explorer.
Baxter tried to compose himself. "Okay, Kelly, here
goes..."
"Andy, just spit it out," Peterman said urgently.
"Conway to all hands...we're experiencing some kind of time
rippling effect."
"Sheesh," Baxter said, "can't a guy--"
Suddenly Baxter found himself surrounded by transparent
images that seemed to be future Captain Baxters from age thirty-
five all the way up to one hundred and twenty, shouting into his
ear. "TELL HER ALREADY!"
Baxter looked over his shoulder, eying the other hims
suspiciously. "Okay, I get the idea!"
The Explorer's hull rattled around Baxter as it navigated
through the anomaly.
"Everyone hold on to your butts!" Conway cried out over the
comm.
"KATHEY!" Baxter shouted over the noise of the Explorer's
creaking hull and the Alert klaxons. "WILL YOU MARRY ME?"
"What?" Peterman asked. "I can't hear you!"
"MARRY ME!"
"Carry you? Andy, I hardly think--"
"MARRY ME!"
"Do what?"
"MARRY--" Suddenly the shaking stopped, the aged Baxters
dissappeared, and the space outside the Explorer returned to
normal. "--MEEEE!"
"Oh, marry you," Peterman said. "Well, of course I'll marry
you. I thought you'd never ask."
"Conway to all hands. You'll be glad to know that we have
safely navigated the temporal anomaly. We are sorry for any
inconvenience it may have caused. Conway out."
Baxter pulled Peterman off the couch and into his arms, hugging
her as tight as he could. "I love you, Kelly."
"Oh, Andy, I love you too." Peterman pulled back to kiss Baxter
for several moments, until Charlie broke in.
"Boy," Baxter said, as Charlie came up to bat Peterman away
and bathe his face in slobber. "At least now we'll have a good reason
to serve all that lobster pate."
"You're such a romantic, Andy."
Lt. Hartley quickly ushered Lt. Gellar into the dimly-lit,
conversation-filled chapel, as crowds of crewmembers began to find
their seats.
"C'mon, Brian," she said, dragging him by the arm. "Let's
get in here before I change my mind."
"Try not to sound so excited to be with me," Gellar
deadpanned.
Hartley stopped in the middle of the aisle. "Listen, I said
I'd be your date to the wedding, didn't I? Well, we're here. Now
get over yourself and help me find a seat."
"Fine...Miss Full Lieutenant."
"You're not still upset about my promotion, are you?"
"Me? No. I'm perfectly fine with having a girlfriend that
outranks me, really."
"I am NOT your girlfriend."
"Then what the heck are you?" Gellar asked, as Hartley
dragged him into a nearby pew.
Hartley smiled, cackling wildly. "The new Chief Engineer of
the Explorer!"
"Nervous, Andy?" Lt. Commander Richards asked, leaning
back in his chair as Baxter adjusted his dress uniform.
"Nope. Not at all. Couldn't be more calm," Baxter said,
tugging at his sleeves. "Mr. Briggs! These sleeves are TOO
SHORT!"
Briggs worked frantically with the phaser hemmer, jerking on
Baxter's arm. "Hold still, Mr. Fantsypants, I'm working as fast
as I can."
"It's not fast enough, Yeoman!"
Commander Conway stuck his head into the dressing room.
"The crowd is looking awfully restless, Captain. What should I
tell them?"
"You do your job, Mister!" Baxter barked. "Ush them
like you've never ushed before!"
"Aye, Captain," Conway said dejectedly, disappearing back
behind the door to the dressing room.
Richards laughed at Baxter as Briggs fretted over him.
"You don't know how insane you look, Andy. Seeing this is
worth all the latinum in the quadrant."
"Laugh it up while you can, buddy," Baxter griped. "You'll
be right out there with me."
"Just make sure you remember your lines."
"Short and sweet, just like all the weddings in my family,"
Baxter said. "I'm going to get in there, get hitched, and get the
hell out."
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Lieutenant
Commander Larkin?" Counselor Peterman asked nervously as
Larkin disappeared underneath the billowing folds of her wedding
dress.
"I assure you, Counselor, I am quite well-versed in the art
of tailoring. It is quite similar to engineering and operations
in many ways," Lt. Commander Larkin said from within the dress.
Peterman twitched as she heard the umistakable hiss of a
phaser welder. "What the heck are you doing down there? I
thought you just had to fix my slip!"
"Other repairs are required. Please be still, Counselor. I
have no wish to make you an amputee on your wedding day."
"I should hope not," Peterman said, rolling her eyes.
Dr. Browning strolled into the dressing room, a large slice of
wedding cake in her hand. "Are we almost ready to get the ball
rolling, here?"
"Janice, what the hell are you doing?" Peterman cried.
"What do you mean?" Browning asked innocently.
"That's from the wedding cake!"
Browning looked down at the slice in her hand. "Oh, this?
Hmm. I'll be darned. Sorry about that!"
"Put it back!" Peterman said. "If you have to nibble from
something, start eating that lobster pate. Mirk ordered an
unbelievable amount."
"Now there's an idea," Browning said, heading out of the
dressing room.
"Well?" Peterman asked, looking down at the sillouette that
struggled underneath her dress.
"Repairs are almost completed, Counselor," Larkin said.
"I have reinforced the wires holding up the outer layers of the
dress and restitched the lining. There is now a seventy percent
less chance that the dress will come apart during the
processional."
"Great work, Commander. You might put Yeoman Briggs out
of a job."
"That would be inadvisable," Larkin said, emerging from
underneath Peterman's dress. "The Yeoman can be quite catty."
"No kidding," Peterman said, looking at her reflection in
the mirror.
J'hana suddenly entered, looking extremely uncomfortable in
her bridesmaid dress. "Counselor, I wish to issue a complaint
regarding the ring bearer."
Peterman turned to J'hana. "What's he doing now?"
"He has relieved himself on the pillow and attempted to eat
the ring twice."
"Well, replace the pillow, walk him, and then tie the ring
onto the pillow."
"Counselor, I wish to know why you have picked me to see
after your... pets in this matter."
"Because they love you sooo much!" Peterman grinned.
"J'hana!" Lt. Tilleran called out from the outer corridor.
"Pandora's eating the wedding bouquet!"
"I wish I had my phaser right now," J'hana grumbled,
hitching up her shoulder strap and marching determinedly out
of the room.
Yeoman Briggs navigated around J'hana and scurried into the
room. "Five minutes to showtime, honey! Can you feel the
excitement?"
Peterman grasped both of Briggs's hands and shook them
vigorously. "Yes, Jeffery, yes! What about the Captain?"
"I finally got his dress uniform straightened out. Oh,
Kelly, you should see him. He's sweating buckets!"
"And this time it's not from the strain of getting out of
his command chair and walking over to the turbolift," Peterman
giggled.
"Oh, you're so bad!" Briggs laughed. "Now come on! Let's
get you and the girls ready for the procession!"
"Are you SURE you're licensed to do this, Mr. Dillon?"
Baxter asked, looking over his shoulder anxiously at Bradley
Dillon as he, Bradley, and Richards stood at the front of the
chapel, awaiting the procession.
"Yes, among other things," Bradley said proudly. "Are you
interested in a Cardassian vole-hunting permit?"
"No thanks."
"How about a strip of land in the Arcanis sector? Great
plots for newlyweds at rock-bottom prices!"
Baxter cringed. "Mr. Dillon, the Arcanis sector is
restricted by Starfleet!"
"Oh, did I say Arcanis? I meant to say Archanon. Now
there's a beautiful system. Especially in spring!"
"Be quiet!" Richards said. "The man is about to be
married."
"Which means he should be thinking more and more about
the important issue of health insurance. Perhaps, after the
wedding, you can look over--"
"Shut up, Mr. Dillon, or I'll have you removed from the
altar!" Baxter barked.
"Fine, fine," Bradley said, as the bridesmaids and
groomsmen began to take their places.
Mr. Mirk gracefully escorted Tilleran down the aisle,
followed by Ford and a reluctant J'hana, and Conway and
Larkin.
Once everyone was in place, Tilleran glared over at Ford.
"No, Lieutenant, these bridesmaids dresses are not difficult to
unzip at all!"
Ford blushed. "Thanks."
Next, Pandora and Charlie scuttled down the aisle, the
former carrying a boquet of flowers in her mouth and the latter
carrying a fresh pillow and wedding ring strapped to his back.
"That's right, boy, come on," Baxter whispered. "Please
don't attack anyone on my wedding day."
"That took a surprising amount training," J'hana whispered
to Tilleran as Pandora took her place beside the bridesmaids and
Charlie sat respectfully beside Lt. Commander Richards.
"Good job, Lt. J'hana," Tilleran whispered back.
J'hana folded her arms. "In fact, I consider it a feat of
animalistic legerdemain."
"Don't get carried away."
Then, at Yeoman Briggs's cue, Ensign Madera started in
on her harp, and Ensign Ryan Stuart on his electronic
keyboard. With a festive bossa nova beat, the wedding march
began.
Captain Baxter swallowed hard as Dr. Browning led the way,
with Yeoman Briggs escorting Peterman down the aisle a few
steps behind.
"Step, pause, step, pause, step, pause, step pause...that's
it Kelly, you've got it!" Briggs whispered excitedly as Peterman
strolled down the aisle.
"You go girl!" Lt. Hartley whispered as Peterman passed by.
"Go show 'em how it's done!"
Peterman gripped her boquet tightly and looked up at Captain
Baxter. This was it. The last two years--filled with confusion,
danger, destruction, and all sorts of wierdness--had come to a
head. She was about to be married.
Bradley Dillon held up a padd as Browning and Peterman took
their respective places and as Yeoman Briggs took his seat.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the
joining of Andrew Jackson Baxter and Kelly Lynne Peterman in
holy matrimony. Since the days of 'Mom and Pop' General Stores,
it has been the honor and privelege of small-business proprietors
to unite couples in marriage, as well as to hand out hunting
permits and insurance claims, sometimes slashing their retail
prices to new, exciting lows--"
"Get on with it!" Baxter snapped.
"Anyway," Bradley said, taking in a deep breath, "the bride and
groom have taken it upon themselves to write their own vows, and
as silly as they may seem--"
Baxter glared hard at Bradley.
"--they are romantic nonetheless, and I will honor their
request by helping the happy couple recite them now. Andrew,
do you take Kelly Lynne as your lawfully wedded wife,
to have and to hold, through Borg invasion and Dominion
conspiracies, in Sickbay and on the bridge, whether she may be
assimilated, kidnapped, altered by a genetic retrovirus, or
otherwise mutilated?"
Baxter grinned widely. "I certainly do."
Yeoman Briggs grabbed a handkerchief out of his jacket
pocket and wiped his eyes, turning to Ensign Saral and sobbing,
"I love weddings, but I swear I fall apart each time."
Saral straightened. "Vulcans find the emotional weight that
humans attach to the act of marraige unusual. It is actually a
very practical arrangement."
Briggs blew hard on his handkerchief. "I'm so happy for
them!"
Bradley turned to Peterman, trying to recite the lines with a
straight face. "And Kelly, do you take Andrew Jackson,
through obsessions and compulsions, in giant space amoebas and
quantum singularities, whether he may be taken over by a malignant
subspace entity or caught in and endlessly repeating temporal
loop, in alternate realities and timelines, in the past and the
future, as long as you both shall live?"
Peterman winked at Baxter and turned to Bradley with a
determined look on her face. "Damned right I do."
"Dr. Browning, the ring if you will?" Bradley asked, turning to
the Maid of Honor.
Browning dug deep into the folds of her dress. "I know it's in
here somewhere. Oh, wait a minute. Here you go..." she placed
the ring in Peterman's hand.
"You know the drill," Bradley said to Peterman, tapping the
padd and checking his chronometer.
With much effort, Peterman pushed the ring over the knuckle
on Baxter's chubby ringfinger. The Captain suppressed a pained
yelp as the ring began pinching off his circulation.
"Mr. Richards," Bradley said, indicating the ring on
Charlie's back.
Richards took in a deep breath. He had been dreading this
moment. "Good boy. Don't snap. Unkie Chris here. I'm your
friend, remember?"
Charlie stared at Richards as he carefully untied the ring
and removed it from the pillow, waiting until it passed by his
mouth to chomp down on it and pull with all his might.
"Get off!" Richards shouted, slapping Charlie on the nose
with his one free hand. "That's not a toy! Give it back!"
"Charlie!" Peterman said, exasperated.
Mirk sighed. "I'll take care of it." The Maloxian stared at
Charlie, and suddenly the Golden Retriever flew up into
the air, twisted around, and shook vigorously, until he finally
let go of the ring and gently drifted to the ground.
"Thanks Mirk," Richards said, handing the ring to Baxter.
"Go for it, Andy."
Baxter looked up at Peterman longingly, sliding the slightly
scratched ring onto her finger.
Bradley looked from Baxter to Peterman. "Well...if no one
else objects, I now pronounce you man and wife. Captain, you
may kiss the bride."
Baxter flipped Peterman's veil up and leaned forward,
enveloping her in a long, sloppy kiss.
"Okay, Tiger, save some of it for the honeymoon," Richards
cautioned, pulling Baxter back down the aisle.
Madera and Stuart started in again as Baxter, Peterman
and the rest of the wedding party took off down the aisle.
Yeoman Briggs wiped his eyes one more time and called
up to Ensign Stuart in the balcony. "Ensign, hit it!"
Stuart leaned over his keyboard and stamped his hand down
on a control, causing the confetti cannons that were mounted
on each side of the chapel to blast off in a cloud of fluttering
paper.
The wedding party rushed through the confetti and out of the
chapel.
Mr. Mirk brought up the rear, stopping at the door to shout,
"Everyone meet at the Constellation Cafe for the reception!
Drinks are half off, as is the Lobster pate!"
The sounds of the "Chicken Dance" echoed through the
Constellation Cafe, as the gathered crowd vigorously waved
their arms like farm fowl.
"I find this invigorating, if not totally honorable!" J'hana
cried as she waved her arms madly, her hands becoming wildly
pecking chicken beaks.
"There seems to be a correlation between the foolishness of
an act and the amount of fun had at a celebration, Lieutenant,"
Larkin said as she vivaciously chicken-danced.
"I'm not so sure of that," Baxter said. "I've done some
pretty damn foolish things before and not had a bit of fun doing
it!"
"There are exceptions to every rule, Captain."
Commander Conway sipped at his drink as he watched the
crewmembers shake it on the ersatz dance floor that Mirk had set
up at the center of the Constellation Cafe.
"Well, they certainly look like they're having a good time,"
Lana remarked, sitting down beside him.
"Yes, they do."
"Why don't you join them?"
Conway shrugged as he took another sip of his drink. "Ah,
my heart just wouldn't be in it."
"Still upset about the conversation we had the other day?"
"That's part of it. I'm just beginning to realize that I'm
not getting younger, and if I don't settle down soon I may never
get married again."
"Don't be so sure about that, Commander," Lana said,
grabbing Conway's hand. "You know what they say. There are
always possibilities..."
With that, Lana dragged Conway out on the dance floor just
as something called the "Macarena" began.
Bradley Dillon looked up from the DJ stand, pressing a button
to end the "Electric Slide" music. "Okay, everyone, it's time for
the moment you've all been waiting for. The boquet toss!
Counselor Peterman, if you please!"
Peterman sauntered out into the middle of the dance floor.
"Gather around, girls. This one's going to be a doozy!"
The usually abstinent Counselor had thus far enjoyed
thirteen syntheholic Pink Squirrels, and was showing it.
Browning, Tilleran, J'hana, Larkin, Hartley, Saral, Madera
and others quickly gathered around Peterman as she hauled back
and launched the boquet in the air.
As if it was some sort of warrior's challenge, J'hana
slammed Larkin to the floor, catching Tilleran with an uppercut
to the jaw and leaping a meter into the air for the coveted bouquet,
but it was an expert side tackle from Lt. Hartley that won the day.
The new Engineering Chief hit the ground with a large,
crumpled bouquet safely in hand. "Eat boquet, J'hana!" she said
merrily.
Moments later, Bradley cued up a slinky, jazzy, sexy beat that
denoted the removal of the garter.
Captain Baxter excitedly placed his hand inside Peterman's
dress, pulling gently until the garter was wrenched free,
thrusting it into the air. "Come and get it, fellas!"
"Come on up, bachelors," Bradley said over the loudspeaker.
"And get the chance to go where no man has gone before with
Lieutenant Hartley."
"Watch it, bub!" Hartley cried, waving her bouquet
menacingly.
Conway, Ford, Richards, Gellar, Mirk, and a handful of
other men stepped up, trying to decide if capturing the garter was
a good thing. One wrong move with the sardonic Lt. Hartley
would cause the lucky bachelor unending physical pain.
"All right, here goes!" Baxter shouted, turning around and
flipping the garter behind him.
The tiny, lacy garment sailed through the air, past
scrambling bachelors and right onto the head of an unsuspecing Mr.
Mirk.
"Hey, cool!" Mirk said, pulling the garter off his head.
"What do I do with it now?"
"As legend states," Bradley said eagerly over the loudspeakers,
"you have to slide that garter as high up the good Lieutenant's
leg as you can. The higher it goes, the more luck the newlyweds
will receive."
"Oh," Mirk said. "Jeeze, what a weird custom. Okay, if
that's what you want, that's what you'll get."
Bradley put on even sultrier music as Mirk kneeled before Lt.
Hartley and began to slide the garter.
"Watch it, Mirk," Hartley cautioned, "or all the special
powers in the galaxy won't save you."
Mirk gulped, deciding that once the garter had gone over
Hartley's knee other methods were in order. He stared down at
Hartley's lap and concentrated hard.
"What the--" Hartley said, as the garter magically traveled
higher and higher.
"Here's luck for you!" Mirk said excitedly, moving the
garter higher and higher with his mind.
Suddenly Hartley's hand clamped down on his shoulder with
unbecoming strength. "That is ENOUGH LUCK, buster!"
"Oh. Okay," Mirk said sheepishly, turning and bowing to
the audience. "Whoever gets that thing out will get a round of
free drinks."
Lt. Gellar rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Start
pouring, Mirk!"
Hartley shook her head, flinging the now unhinged garter into
Gellar's face. "Forget about it, spanky!"
Gellar turned to Bradley. "What does it mean when you get
a garter thrown in your face?"
Bradley shrugged. "Don't look at me."
After a seemingly neverending conga line and a drunken,
disorganized, sloppy karaoke rendition of Van Morrison's "Brown-
eyed Girl," Captain Baxter, Counselor Peterman, and the rest of
the wedding party made their way to the Captain's yacht for the
newlyweds' royal sendoff.
"Status of the yacht, Mr. Richards?" Baxter asked,
approaching the airlock doors.
"Ship shape and bristol fashion, sir," Richards said,
saluting. "She's all yours."
"Thanks, Chris," Baxter said, shaking Richards's hand
warmly and pulling him forward into a hug. "I'm going to miss
you."
"No you won't. Every time you plug in the latest 'Days of
Honor' chip you'll remember me. I'll be permeating every minute
of that show."
"I look forward to seeing it," Baxter said, turning to
Browning. "And Kelly and I look forward to stopping by
Waystation when we get a chance and checking out the new
restaurant, Janice."
Browning smiled. "I'll have a special booth saved for
you guys."
Peterman sniffled. "I can't believe you guys are actually
not going to be here when we get back. I don't know who me and
Andy will double date with without the two of you."
"You'll find someone else with a convoluted relationship to
counsel," Browning said, wrapping her arms around Peterman and
hugging her tightly.
"If there's one thing this ship has no shortage of, it's
convoluted relationships," Baxter added, as he and Richards
joined in on the hug.
"Bridge to Captain Baxter. The Li'l Explorer is ready for
launch."
Baxter looked up wistfully. "Well then, I guess it's time
to go."
"Take care of yourselves," Peterman said, as Baxter hit the
control for the airlock door--
--and was immediately hit by a wall of whipped cream.
Baxter wiped the cream from his face and looked back at
Richards and Browning. "Guys, you shouldn't have."
"Make good use of it, Andy," Richards grinned.
"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something. Commander Conway,
keep things together here for me until I get back," Baxter said,
picking Peterman up into his arms and carrying her over the
threshold, past the airlock and into the command center of the
Li'l Explorer.
"Computer, close airlock and begin yacht detachment
procedures," Conway commanded, folding his arms and
watching the airlock swing shut.
"There goes one happy couple," Browning said.
"Let us hope they survive the trip to the Xavier system
without being attacked and killed," J'hana added.
"Always the optimist, J'hana," Richards muttered, turning
on a heel. "Come on, Janice. Let's turn in. We're leaving
pretty early tomorrow."
"I suppose so," Browning said, taking Richards's arm.
"Having second thoughts, Janice?" Richards asked, as he led
her back to their quarters.
"No, no. I still think we're doing the right thing." She
looked around. "It's just, after tonight, I realized I'm really
going to really miss this place."
"Believe me, the feeling will soon pass," Richards said
with a laugh as he and Browning strolled down the corridor.
The next day, Lt. Ford woke up on the small, circular card
table at the center of his quarters, wrapped in a shower curtain.
He wondered what could have stirred him from his syntheholic
stupor, blinking several times and looking around the room,
trying to ignore the feeling of dizzyness that came over him.
The glowing red orb bumped into him again.
"Oh, it's you," Ford moaned. "What do you want, anyway?
I did everything you told me to. Now leave me alone."
Ford sat up and rubbed his eyes, pulling the shower curtain
up around him. "Listen, Orb, I'm getting tired of doing this. I
want out."
"But you're making me betray my friends," Ford whined,
feeling halfway between drunk and hung-over.
"Well, no, I guess not."
"Yeah, I suppose."
Ford scratched his head as the orb instructed him. He had a
grim feeling that the hangover was just about to begin.
"And keep your eye on the magnetic constrictors!" Richards
cautioned, looking up at Lt. Hartley as she rode the lift down the
warp core to the main level of Engineering. "They have a way of
sticking at speeds above Warp Eight."
Hartley stepped off the lift and walked over to meet the
former Engineer. "Really, Chris, I have everything under
control."
"I have complete faith in you, Lieutenant. It's just that
engineers have a peculiar bond with the engines they work on.
Sometimes we love them, sometimes we hate them, but we
always respect them. And we always miss them when they're
gone."
Hartley disappeared into Richards's former office and
returned with a large box. "You forgot to take your Leggos
when you packed up the office, sir."
"Don't call me 'sir' anymore," Richards said. "I'm a
civilian now."
"Okay then, take your Leggos, jerkboy."
"Much better." Richards took the box from Lt. Hartley and
looked around the Engineering compartment. Crewmen scuttled
around, preparing the ship for its morning diagnostic. They
seemed particularly edgy now that they were under the leadership
of Lt. Hartley, no doubt aware of her penchant for violence.
Richards noticed how strange it felt wearing civilian clothes,
watching people work on HIS engines, and not having a thing to
do with it anymore. He sighed. He must be getting sentimental in
his old age.
"Lt. Hartley, I stand relieved. Good luck with your
assignment."
"Ah, it's a peace of cake," Hartley said, leaning against a
panel, which began beeping loudly.
"Warp core ejection sequence initiated. Warp core ejection
in thirty seconds...twenty-five seconds...twenty seconds," the
computer droned.
"Damn!" Hartley said, madly stabbing at the panel.
"Have fun!" Richards said, walking out of the Engineering
department for the last time, leaving the shouting crewmen and
alarm klaxons behind.
"Okay, Holly, you're in charge until they find a replacement
Doctor," Browning said, grabbing a large crate of stale foodstuffs
from underneath her desk and whisking it out of her office. "If
there are any major medical problems before then, just consult the
Emergency Medical Hologram."
Holly nodded. "Are you sure that Mr. Richards worked all
the bugs out of his program?"
"I think so. At any rate, I guess you'll find out!" Browning
said, smiling. "If he gives you any problems, just call Lt.
Hartley."
"Yes, Doctor."
Browning strode into the main area of Sickbay and looked
around. "Well, everyone, this is the end. I enjoyed my run here
as Chief Medical Officer, and I'll miss you all."
The assorted medical staff and few patients (from the
previous night's intense and dangerous "Twist" competetion) made
very little stir, obviously not completely bereft at Browning's
departure.
"Well then, I guess there's only one thing left to do,"
Browning said resolutely. "I've wanted to do this for a long time
now."
Holly covered her face as Browning mounted the biobed at the
center of Sickbay. She had been expecting this.
Browning looked out over the group assembled in Sickbay and
took in a deep breath, shouting at the top of her lungs, "FREE
UNNECESSARY ENEMAS FOR EVERYBODY!"
"Are you finished, Doctor?" Holly asked.
Browning dismounted, wiping off her civilian clothes and
taking one last look around. "Yep, I think that about does it."
Bradley Dillon shifted in his command chair on the cramped
bridge of the high warp transport Pavarotti. "Acknowledged,
Explorer, we're ready to depart."
On the small viewscreen, Commander Conway grimaced at
Bradley. "Watch your back out there, Dillon. Just because
you're in Federation space now doesn't mean you're safe."
"I understand, Commander. I'll be careful."
"Captain Baxter was adamant that Mr. Richards and Dr.
Browning not come to any harm on their trip to Waystation, and
he instructed me to tell you that if anything did happen to them,
he'd come after you personally."
"How heartwarming," Bradley said wryly. "But several
Dillon Enterprises escort ships are en route to follow me back
to Waystation. I'll be fine."
"If you had escort ships, then why the hell did you need
us?"
"I don't have to pay you guys by the hour."
Conway muttered something under his breath and closed the
channel.
Bradley engaged the small transport into warp as Conway
disappeared from the viewscreen. Although he hadn't planned on
bringing Richards along with him, Browning had agreed to his
proposal and would make a fine addition to his staff. In the
future, she might even become more. Everything was slowly
falling into place.
Bradley rubbed his hands together eagerly and set a course for
Waystation.
Captain's Personal Log,
Stardate 52999.8. Counselor Peterman and I have been
traveling through deep space for four days now, and are happy to
report that we have encountered no space pirates, Starshine Kids,
or other malicious entities on our trip to the Xavier system, a
previously unexplored sector of space near the Galactic Rim that
our Stellar Cartography department promises will provide a very
interesting vacation.
"Another grape, Counselor?" Baxter asked, dangling the
cluster of grapes tauntingly over his new wife.
"Please, Captain," Peterman said, as Baxter lowered the
cluster of grapes into her mouth.
"Tell me something," Baxter said, leaning back on the couch
in his quarters aboard the Li'l Explorer. "Why did you decide not
to take my name?"
"Hmmm, professional reasons I guess. Plus, it would be
confusing, don't you think?"
"I don't know. I mean, you'd be Counselor Baxter, and I'd
be Captain Baxter. Nothing hard about that."
"Well, then, how about we change your name to Captain
Peterman?"
Baxter scoffed. "And why would we do a stupid thing like
that?"
"It's no different than changing my name to Baxter!"
"It's tradition!"
"A very old, outdated tradition. I don't have to lose my
identity to spend the rest of my life with you."
"Well, I suppose I can deal with that," Baxter grinned,
stuffing another grape into Peterman's mouth.
"Now entering Xavier system. Coming out of warp per
orders," the computer announced.
Baxter rose from the couch. "Boy, that sure was fast. If
this thing didn't have warp capability it would have taken
months to get this far."
Peterman followed Baxter out of their cabin and out onto
the yacht's small control center. "Good thinking on the part
of the engineers who built both the big Explorer and the li'l
one."
Baxter grinned and pulled Peterman close to him as he
studied the computer's scans of the system. "Then again, if
I'm with you, I see no reason to rush anything."
"You're such a smooth talker," Peterman said, pulling
Baxter into a voracious kiss.
Baxter glanced down at the sensor panel as he kissed
Peterman, and his eyes suddenly went wide. "What the hell?"
Peterman turned, looking down to see what had caught
Baxter's attention.
"What is it?"
Baxter increased the gain on the sensors and brought the
scans up on the main viewscreen. "I just detected a Starfleet
ID signal on the fourth planet in this system."
"I thought no one from Starfleet was in this system,"
Peterman said, looking over Baxter's shoulder with interest.
"There isn't supposed to be," Baxter said, tapping more
quickly on the sensor panel. "The signal is coming from a
Danube-classs runabout. Looks like it crash-landed. Wait
a minute. There's something else on that planet, but it's being
masked by a high-energy dispersion field of some sort."
"I don't like the sounds of this, Andy," Peterman said
worriedly, squeezing Baxter's arm.
"It may just be an exploratory post that we weren't
informed about. I'm sure the runabout just..." Baxter
stopped.
Peterman leaned in closer. "What?"
"That's impossible," Baxter said. He checked the scans
a second time.
Peterman looked at the information and gasped.
"Andy...how...?"
Blinking incessantly on the readout screen, the complete ID
tag of the runabout sent a shiver down the spines of Baxter and
Peterman.
USS WICOMICO
NCC-74010
ASSIGNED TO USS AEROSTAR
ON STARDATE 51003
"I may be wrong, but didn't we leave that runabout back in
the Delta Quadrant?" Peterman asked, confused.
"Last I heard," Baxter said, turning to the helm panel.
"I'm taking us in for a closer look. Send a message out to
Commander Conway on a secure subspace channel. There's
something freaky going on here."
Counselor Peterman looked up from the communications
board uneasily. "Andy...all of our signals are being
jammed!"
"Source?" Baxter asked, looking up at the viewscreen
as the Li'l Explorer tracked toward Xavier Four.
"I can't tell," Peterman said. "What the heck is going on
here, Andy?"
"I don't know," Baxter said. "But I'm damn sure going to
get to the bottom of it. Rigging for orbit."
"Andy!" Peterman called out, pointing at the viewscreen.
"Look!"
A massive, winged red starship glided toward them like a
wraith, seemingly from out of nowhere.
"Where the hell did that come from?" Baxter asked,
frantically stabbing at the helm controls. He recognized the ship
as the same type that attacked Bradley Dillon's transport and saved
him, Peterman, Browning, Richards, and Ford from the Klingons
months ago. With that in mind, Baxter tried madly to get out of
orbit and engage the tiny ship into warp.
But before the Li'l Explorer could escape Xavier Four's
gravity well, the red starship pounded it with its weapons.
Energy blasted against the tiny ship's hull, blowing the engines
apart instantly and sending it plunging down towards the planet's
surface like a falling meteor, with the sign that read "Just Married"
flopping around incessantly behind it.
TO BE CONTINUED...